


Unexpected Reunion

by kenwayotp



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Established Relationship, Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 11:10:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6702346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenwayotp/pseuds/kenwayotp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was quite funny how fate could bring two people back together, he thought. Were it not for Haytham, Connor would probably be dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected Reunion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brokibrodinson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokibrodinson/gifts).



> Set in an AU after the game ended. Please forgive any historical inaccuracies. Violence is no more than the game depicts.

After Charles Lee's death the Templars regrouped sooner than Connor had anticipated. Their new Grandmaster, a certain former General Hawthorne, made no secret about his hatred for the former Grandmasters of the Colonial Rite. He saw Connor's father as a traitor, fraternizing with the enemy, while Charles Lee was in his opinion simply weak. From what Connor and his assassin apprentices were able to gather, Hawthorne wanted to "better" the Order in the Colonies and that meant ruling with an iron fist. The Grandmaster was ruthless, the lack of conscience made him all the more dangerous. Connor often wondered what would Haytham say if he saw his Order in such disrepair.

The current battle was long and hard, smoke from muskets and cannons lingering in the air. Casualties littered the grounds; the fort just outside of Philadelphia was well guarded and Connor was losing hope of ever winning this battle. He was tiring quickly, his muscles already protesting from constant use for the last half an hour. He pulled his tomahawk from an enemy's skull with a sickening squelch and pushed the dead body away. He barely avoided a knife in his side and spun around with a shout, lodging his hidden blade into the attacker's neck.

He saw more soldiers coming in from around the corner and knew he would not be able to overpower them. His brothers got injured in the fight, so he ordered them to leave before one or more of them became fatally wounded. At least now Connor didn't have to worry about his comrades and could only focus on himself and his enemy. Panting, he blocked the musket of a guard and used his body as a shield against the bullets coming from a nearby officer's flintlock.

Only about dozen of guards remained from that moment and all focused on Connor, who was desperately trying to catch his breath. They gave him a wide berth and he waited, half-hunched like a cougar readying itself to attack his prey. To his horror, three guards aimed their muskets at him. There was no one in his reach he could use as a shield and they were in the open with no objects to hide behind. Usually he was quick and light on his feet but as exhausted as he was, he was not going to reach the nearest grenadier in time. This grave mistake could cost him his life. He had to do something.

It all happened so suddenly and in such a blur that Connor didn't know what had happened. All he could recall was a shout somewhere above him and then two of the guards readying to fire were mercilessly flattened to the ground by a figure clothed in black. Connor could see the glint of two blades stained by blood as they were removed from the guards' necks. The stranger easily disposed of the nearest three guards, taking advantage of their surprise. This prompted Connor to finally move swiftly behind the grenadier, slitting his throat in one quick motion.

While fighting, he kept glancing at the stranger. It was clearly a man, about as tall as Connor himself, and seemed very familiar in his movements. But who could it be? None of his brothers dressed like this; in all black robes with a hood that obscured much of his face and with no clear insignia anywhere on his clothes or weapons. His fighting style was brutally efficient and Connor would have admired the way he handled a pair of officers if it was not for the sword barely missing his own face. He sent his fist flying into the offender's face and severed his jugular with a quick swipe of his hidden blade. 

When he activated his eagle vision, the figure glowed a a strange purple colour, as if someone took a vibrant blue colour and mixed in a little bit of red. He turned his back to the stranger as they fought the remaining guards, trusting him not to lodge his blades into his back. Maybe the stranger planned to kill him last but for the moment Connor was happy to have acquired some help, however short-lived that was. He could not help but look behind his shoulder, catching a glimpse of silver hair and red ribbon that were revealed by the fallen hood.

_No, it can't be..._

Momentarily frozen, the grenadier's axe nearly chopped his head off and with a low oath in Mohawk, Connor sent the guard to meet its maker. A hoarse shout was cut silent with a sharp sound of a blade somewhere behind him. Having disposed of all his enemies, he whirled around to make sure he was not seeing things earlier. The battle was finally over and it was silent except for the birds' chirping, soft wind rustling the leaves in the tree tops and his own laboured breathing.

It was no ruse nor a figment of his imagination; Haytham Kenway stood there, nonchalantly wiping his blade on the fallen guard's uniform. How was this possible? He had killed his father two years ago, felt his warm blood trickle down his hand and inside his sleeve as he buried his hidden blade in the man's neck. Watched him crumple to the ground and die! He read Haytham's journal, the last ever entry and yet his father, his enemy, his... _lover_ was standing there in the flesh. 

Haytham turned, his face an unreadable mask as he looked Connor up and down to ascertain he was alright. Apparently satisfied, he gave his son a curt nod.

"Connor." Was all he said before he covered his head with the hood again and quickly took off, leaving Connor standing there bewildered, his arm stretched out as if to reach out and touch.

"Wait-" He called but ultimately knew Haytham could not hear him anymore and even if he did, he would not stop.

It wasn't long before the Patriots came pouring in, getting rid of the bodies and at the same time giving Connor space by more or less ignoring him. He was grateful for that and left as soon as he was able. It was barely midday but he really needed rest. At the same time he wanted to follow his father, demand an explanation but he knew that could wait. Haytham was alive and that was all that mattered. He found a nearby stream where he washed his face, hands and clothing from all the blood and sighed to himself. Resolving to go look for Haytham once he was rested, he settled high in the trees, safely tucked away from view in the densely intertwined branches up high.

***

He awoke refreshed four hours later by his growling stomach and full bladder. The latter taken care of, he lay down a trap to catch a hare. It was not long before he sat in front of a small campfire, roasting his lunch. Yet his mind was still restless, intent on finding Haytham as soon as possible. Lunch was a quick affair; due to his hunger and his impatience he wolfed down the meat and discarded of the bones, then called his horse. Activating his eagle sense, he focused on purplish footprints and followed them all the way into Philadelphia. He had not been to the city often, so he did not know it well like Boston or New York, but following the markings was easy and when the night fell, he was standing upon a rooftop of a shabby old inn. Taking a deep breath, he carefully descended to the window of Haytham's room, taking advantage of the wide open window and folding himself through the gap.

It seemed Haytham was readying for bed, shrugging off his black coat. He was not particularly surprised at the intrusion, but made no attempt at acknowledging his son whatsoever and turned his back to him without even looking at him. Connor simply stood there, his hand folded in front of him, unsure of what to say, where to begin. His father sighed and turned his head to the side, looking back at Connor from the corner of his eye briefly.

"Why?" Was all he could say, his mind suddenly blank. There was another sigh.

"Why what?" There was a pause when Connor contemplated just what exactly he was asking. So he blurted out what first came to his mind.

"Why did you wait this long?" In hindsight, his question was rather stupid. Haytham turned to him fully, sliding the cravat from his neck. While there were only a few candles scattered about the room, the long jagged scar on his father's neck was all to vivid to Connor's eyes. He swallowed.

"You did stab me in the neck, boy." Guilt washed over him, his eyes drifting from the scar on Haytham's neck to the floor boards. So many emotions warred within him; anger, sadness, anxiety but also relief, joy and, dare he acknowledge it, affection.

"I am sorry. Sakataterihwáhten." Eyebrows drawn, he lifted his eyes to his father's neck once again, unaware he spoke in his native tongue. He knew he would live with this guilt for the rest of his life but maybe, just maybe, since Haytham was still somehow miraculously alive, he hoped that one day he would forgive him and somewhat ease his burden. He wondered if the injury was still affecting his father, wondered if it still physically hurt. Haytham studied him for a long time in silence, his eyes taking in Connor's expression as if trying to read what Connor was thinking.

"Enkakwé:ni, Ratonhnhaké:ton." It was very strange to hear Haytham speak in Kanien'kéha for the first time, but Connor could not deny the flutter he felt in his chest when he was addressed by his real name for the first time in years and for the first time by his father. While the words spoken were laden with British accent, Haytham's pronounciation was surprisingly good, so he could only look at him in astonishment. Haytham merely shrugged.

"I had a lot of free time on my hands." Haytham didn't need to elaborate, Connor knew instantly what he meant. If his father had been on the brink of death, he had a lot of time to recuperate. From his encounter with Charles Lee and his nearly fatal wound, he knew how slow the healing process could be and how bored one person could become before they were able to move about. Still, he wished to know more. Who had found him? Where had he been all these years? What else had he done in the meantime? Who had been taking care of him? Who had wiped the sweat from his brow and calmed him down from a nightmare? Who had shared his bed?

"Why are you here?" He asked suddenly, not wanting to dwell on the thoughts running through his mind. Haytham shrugged off his waistcoat and draped it over the back of the chair. 

"Isn't it obvious?" When Connor didn't reply, he continued. "Hawthorne needs to be stopped before he ruins the Order and this nation."

"So you're helping the Assassins against Templars?"

"Don't misunderstand me, Connor. I'm very much still a Templar. But Hawthorne is ruining the Order and if by stopping him and saving this nation means working alongside the Brotherhood, that's the price I'm willing to pay. I didn't know there would be an attack on the Fort today. I was doing some reconnaissance but when I heard commotion, I snuck inside. I didn't know the Assassins would be there. If I knew, I would not go in; I do not want to align myself with your kind again." Connor bristled at that comment but counted to five in his head to calm down. It was quite funny how fate could bring two people back together, he thought. Were it not for Haytham, Connor would probably be dead. 

"Why are you still here then? You could have disappeared again if you wanted." Connor asked but was met with silence while Haytham busied himself with something. If Haytham didn't want to work with him or the Assassins again, why did he still linger in Philadelphia? Haytham was a trained Assassin and Templar, he knew how to disappear without a trace, yet made the novice mistake of not covering his tracks and letting his son find him. Unless...

Connor stepped closer to Haytham, who suddenly straightened when he felt his presence behind him. 

"Unless you wanted me to find you." He said softly and waited for his father to turn around. They had not been this close outside of a battle for years and it made his blood thrum in his veins in anticipation. 

It had all started after the brewery and their immoral and illegal relationship progressed further aboard the Aquilla. They had been both understandably hesitant at first but the attraction and desire for the other could not be suppressed. In the end despite their reservations they had always found a way to each other, both of them too entangled in their damning affair. But even after all that had happened, Connor still desired his father. Yes, it was wrong, very wrong, but he could not help it. He knew what Haytham was doing; trying to put as much distance between them as possible and try not to get involved again. Judging by the lack of reply and the look on Haytham's face, he was failing miserably just like Connor.

Hence he did what felt right; he leaned in slowly, waiting for Haytham to react. He could see Haytham's pupils dilate, could smell the oh so familiar scent he had missed for so long. He didn't have to wait long before lips pressed against his carefully, chastely. There was a second of getting re-acquainted with the other and then they were kissing in earnest. They poured every withheld emotion, all their anger, love, frustration, grief, lust and guilt into it, all but tearing off the other's clothes in the process. 

Connor mouthed along his father's neck, lingering around the jagged scar, carefully kissing and licking at the raised flesh. He revelled in the way Haytham's breath hitched as he did so, feeling his pulse flutter in his jugular. He smiled against the rough skin but soon found himself on his back as Haytham flipped them over, so he was hovering over the assassin. Connor couldn't recall how they got onto the bed but he particularly didn't care; the older man was pressed against him deliciously and he could finally admit to himself that he missed Haytham, missed _this_. He hadn't even dreamed he could have this again.

His father made a curious sound as his fingers encountered a rather large scar tissue on his stomach, silently asking with his gaze what had caused the wound. Connor merely shook his head and then moaned unabashedly when fingers were replaced by a wicked mouth and tongue. 

It was much later, long after the candles had burned out, when they lay sated in each other's arms on the brink of sleep, when Connor heard Haytham mumble.

"I haven't forgiven you, Connor." Connor knew that and did not expect Haytham to forgive him anytime soon and definitely not because of what happened tonight. So he only nodded in acknowledgment against the skin of his father's shoulder and sleepily pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

"Konnorónhkwa, raké:ni." He didn't miss the catch in his father's breath and smiled to himself. 

"Silly boy." Fingers carded through his hair and gently massaged his scalp. It was a soft kiss to the top of his head that accompanied Connor into a deep peaceful sleep.

 

______

Sakataterihwáhten - I made a mistake  
Enkakwé:ni - I am okay  
Konnorónhkwa, raké:ni - I love you, father

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fic! 
> 
> And no, I haven't forgotten about 'Untold Secret', in fact, I will be posting a new chapter soon! :)


End file.
